Don't Forget to Tie Your Shoes
by thebravelittlemonkey
Summary: A combination of flashbacks and in-series stories to explore the relationship between the 100 and their respective parents. Currently Jasper-centric. Hopefully more to be added soon!
1. Trapped

Unique.

That's the word people would use to describe Jasper. That is, when people noticed Jasper, which was less than he would like, and when people could be bothered to comment on the strange boy, which was even less.

Unique was one of those not so complimentary compliments that left one feeling uncertain more than anything else. But there really was no mystery to how he attained such an epithet; it was all in the DNA.

Charlie Jordan and Cameron Gill were an unlikely pair, brought together by circumstance, luck, and a mutated potato. His father had told him the story of their meeting the way other parents tell their children goodnight tales of knights and princesses. Only Charlie had been the damsel in distress and the dragon had been more hairy than fiery. After years and years of retelling, the story had been etched into Jasper's memory as legend, and Unity Day became a sideshow to his parents' anniversary.

That's what his father was best at: retelling stories. Professionally he was known as an Archiver, but Charlie liked to call himself an historian. The problem was, there simply wasn't much history left to record. Life on the Ark was an endless series of reruns, a constant recycling of life where the only stories to tell were the old ones. It was as if human existence had collectively paused, waiting until they returned to solid ground before creating anything new.

His mother, on the other hand, excelled at creation. Officially she was a Chemist, but her boys preferred to call her the Mad Scientist of the Ark. Far from it, Cameron was unquestionably the most level-headed of the Jordan family and could some days hope to balance out their antics with a bit of common sense and maturity. But she had a soft spot for radioactive chemicals, slap-stick comedy, and Charlie; all three could crack her severe exterior with a subtle smile. Most assumed the chemist was humorless, but they simply didn't know where to look. His mother laughed with her eyes; Jasper knew that. He just didn't realize he would miss it so much.

She didn't laugh for the first six months of his incarceration. She didn't even visit for the first month.

"She's still mad, isn't she?"

"No...no, it's not that-"

"Raised voice, clenched fist, that scary thing she does with her eyebrows...Dad, I'm pretty sure that was mad."

"Well yes, but that was a month ago, now she's just-"

"Mad."

"Jasper..."

"What? I don't care. She can be mad. I've made a 'horrible, irreversible mistake that will follow me to Earth.' I got it, she's mad. Monty's mom is mad, too. She even comes around to yell at him sometimes..." he trailed off, shifting uncomfortably in the too-small chairs they provided in the visiting room. Apparently the seats were made to accommodate kids eighteen and under, but Jasper was convinced only six year olds could fit in these.

Everything in the prison ward was too small. The rooms. The beds. The rations. Jasper may have been narrow, but he certainly wasn't lacking in height. He curled up in a ball every night just to get the blanket over his feet. But prison wasn't all that bad, not for minor offenders like himself. They still went to classes, had three meals a day, and even some free time. With Monty in here with him and their parents out there, it was like a vacation. At least that's what they had said in the first week.

"Jasper I'm telling you, she's not mad. She's just worried. The Mad Scientist will never admit it, but I think this place scares her a bit. Or rather, you being in this place scares her a bit. A lot. You just scared her, that's all. She's not mad; she'll come and visit soon, I'm sure of it. Just hang tight," Charlie assured, giving him a wide, optimistic grin that Jasper felt guilty for not returning.

"Whatever," he shrugged, wrinkling his nose at some nonexistent smell and letting an awkward silence fall over them for a moment.

"So did you want to hear about the entries I found? Genuine, digital copies of Pope Urban II's crusader speech. It's pretty cool..."

Charlie always came with stories. Sometimes old ones that he knew by heart, and sometimes new-old ones that he dug up in his research lab. Jasper couldn't help but love them all, no matter how ancient and repetitive they were. He'd rehash them with some creative license to Monty later. The poor kid would never pass a history class in his life because of Jasper's imagination.

Eventually his mother did show up, but she didn't bring stories. She brought homework.

"How did you do with the trigonometry questions?"

"Aced them."

"And what about bio-med?"

"Nailed it."

"And chemistry?"

"Crushed it."

"All right, we'll see. Hand them over." With no further comment, she accepted the small tablet passed to her. Her eyes flickered across the screen with expert speed, but her expression remained unreadable as she checked her son's latest work. While she evaluated the results, the boys began business as usual.

"So did I tell you about the one with the hermit?"

"And the spear?"

"Under the temple?"

"With the fiery death?"

"Yea...that's a good one." Charlie chuckled to himself with fond nostalgia while Jasper tried to sneak a peek at his mother's expression.

"So..." he started, trying his best to determine if that was her pleased or not-so-pleased face.

"So," she returned, "'Crushed it' was a bit of an overstatement. But, you are making progress. You have a chance of getting into the ninety-fifth percentile with more practice. And you know what that means."

"A higher chance of a positive decision for my Final Review day," Jasper recited with an exasperated sigh. "I got it, Mom. Look most of these guys don't even do their regular homework, let alone extra stuff. They're busy, you know, having fun," he hinted, raising a hopeful eyebrow.

He was rewarded with a fresh set of questions, and a stern look. He groaned, if only to stay in character.

It was a shame really, that Jasper never made it to his Final Review day. He had come out as top of his class in chemistry, and not too far behind in a few other subjects. He was no genius, but his mother sure was.

There were no visiting days on Earth. Too-hard logs replaced too-small chairs and hunting replaced homework. At first, it was like a vacation. He was alive, he had Monty, and they were free. But this time, the illusion lasted only a day.

He saw his parents a lot in those first few days. They cooled his burning head, held his hand when it began to shake, and mumbled soft words of encouragement as he slept. When he finally awoke, however, it was Clarke that greeted him.

Weeks later, she would be the one to break the good news to him: they had a working radio and would be streaming images within the hour. She was also the one to get him a ticket to the front of the line, right after the politics and the dead kids. Apparently nearly dead came after that.

His father was the first into view. He had done his best to sit patiently in position for the camera, but the minute Jasper's image came on the screen he nearly leapt over the table to get a closer look.

"Jasper?" he asked, disbelief and pure exuberance washing over his features.

"Yea, hey Dad," Jasper replied, giving an awkward little wave as he smiled back at his father, trying to calm the breakdown that was undoubtably brewing. As if on cue, Charlie's ear-to-ear grin began to quiver as he dissolved into a fit of poorly contained sobs. He'd done the same thing the day his son was arrested; he had always been quite the crier. His mother coaxed him back into his chair, revealing herself on the screen as she did.

"Hey, Mom."

"Hello, Jasper."

This time it was Jasper's turn to dissolve. He didn't even know why. Maybe it was the sound of his dad crying over the staticy background. Maybe it was the strange tone in his mom's gentle voice. Maybe it was the sudden release of the knot he didn't know was in his gut, but he barely had time to contain the rising well of tears before his mother spoke again.

"How are you doing down there?" she asked, poorly masked concern seeping into her tone. Jasper could only hope the fuzzy connection would blur out his own faltering smile.

"I'm, uh, good. Yea, good," he replied, clearing his throat and surreptitiously wiping the dirt from his face. His mother looked unconvinced, so he continued.

"Alive, right? Which is pretty much the biggest news of the century. So Dad, you better make sure I end up in your book, okay? And I'm not talking, like, a little name drop. I mean whole paragraph stuff. Whole page even," he prodded. His father nodded vigorously through his tears, letting laughter break apart the crushing wall of raw emotion.

"I'll write you a whole damn book!" he declared, "I'm sure I could fill one with all of your new stories." There was unabashed excitement in his eyes, and a sort of pride as well. He was already thinking of the perfect title.

"What is it like?" his mom interjected, "Earth? How is it?"

And so Jasper began to recount his last few weeks here on solid ground. They both had a million questions, and so did he. His father wanted to know more about the Grounders, his mother wanted details on the new animal species, and Jasper wanted to hear about the oxygen. So they took turns retelling their stories, each leaving out a few choice memories and softening the edges. The Grounders were more distant, the animals less deadly, and the oxygen more plentiful. The atmosphere in the room was almost hopeful when Clarke reappeared, signaling the end of their conversation.

"...so do you remember the ingredients for- oh, Mom, uh Clarke's here, so..."

"What were you asking?" she urged, the concern quickly returning to her features. Jasper had been about to ask for the ingredients to gunpowder. He had no doubt his mom knew them, and no doubt he would need it soon.

"Don't worry about it," he brushed off, realizing that he didn't need to ask her anyways. She had already taught him everything he needed to know.

"You can ask us next time," his dad offered, sensing the rapidly declining optimism in the room. "Or better yet, ask us when we get down there, yea?"

"Yea, sounds good, Dad," he replied, still sitting in his chair as he watched an officer begin to usher his parents out of theirs. He stayed glued to the spot, ignoring the gentle hand on his shoulder and the sound of another girl shuffling anxiously behind him to take his spot. He just wanted to catch one last look, exchange one more fake smile. Just before she left, his mother quickly turned back to the flickering screen.

"We love you." The statement was rushed, almost desperate. That's when Jasper finally noticed it, that odd uncomfortable sound in the back of his mother's voice. It was the same tone she had the first day she visited him in prison: she was scared.

Only this time Jasper didn't know what scared her more, him being stuck down here, or them being trapped up there.

"Love you, too."

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

I have a lot of parental headcanons and it's weird. Sorry! I just have a lot of feelings about the 200.


	2. Picking up the Pieces

"Jasper..."

Clarke's voice had that horrible mix of strained politeness and pity, but Jasper couldn't hear it. His eyes were still fixed on the video screen and the two empty chairs that kept flickering in the static. In another minute, the Franks would be sitting there, and it was Clarke's job to make sure it was their daughter that greeted them, not the paralyzed teen in front of her.

"Hey, Jasper," she coaxed again, this time giving his shoulder a soft shake which seemed to finally break him from his daze.

"Right, uh, all yours," he replied abruptly, getting up from the chair with an utterly excessive degree of haste. He brushed past Clarke with a suspicious lack of eye contact and made a beeline for the door. He was nearly there when a tell-tale tone made him stop.

"Jasper wait up," Clarke called after him, barely getting the red-head settled into her chair before catching up with him. He stopped, but pointedly refused to turn around. He had a reputation to uphold, and somehow, crying over a phone call with his parents didn't quite fit into that image.

"Yup?" He found himself engrossed in a scuff on the dropship floor, rubbing his worn boot against the mark as if the entire ship wasn't covered with them.

"Everything all right?" she prodded, tilting her head to catch his eye but the floor was just so damn fascinating.

"Yup."

For a second, he thought that would be it. That she would let him walk away and forget the whole thing, but even Jasper had the brains to know that's not how Clarke operated. She didn't try to refute his answer, but she wasn't moving either. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see she was giving him a look. _The_ look. His mother used to give him that look.

"My dad's just gets really emotional, that's all. Cries over nothing all the time," he amended and Clarke was gracious enough to ignore the sharp sniff that punctuated his words.

"I mean, one time, he found this record of some stupid town that got blown apart by a volcano. All the people just hollowed out ash statues and dust. I thought it was kind of cool, but he totally lost it." He recounted the story with a roll of his eyes, not even realizing he had turned to face Clarke.

"Your dad cried over Pompeii?" she asked with an amused smile. She couldn't help but remember her own father's incomprehensible love affair with Tesla. If materials hadn't been so scarce on the Ark, she swore he would have built a shrine. Maybe it was a requirement for fathers to have weird obsessions.

"Yea, pathetic right?" Jasper let out a short laugh, but his smile didn't reach his eyes.

"You know it's okay to miss your parents, right?"

Clarke knew. She knew what it was like to miss his laugh. To pose questions to the air and let memories fill in the answers. To concentrate on his face each night so she would never forget it. She knew what it was like to miss a parent, and for her, the feeling would never go away. Jasper was silent for a moment, letting her words sink in as he returned to the ever important scuff mark on the floor. He couldn't quite bring himself to admit what Clarke was thinking.

"Are you kidding? My mom's a total hard ass. Man, when she gets here the moonshine business is definitely going under," he complained.

"I'm sure you and Monty will find a way," she joked, deciding for now her work here was done. You could only drag someone so far out of denial before they had to climb out of the hole themselves. And he would, eventually.

"All right, well I'll be away for a bit today. Keep an eye on Octavia, would you?" she asked, glancing upward to where the girl was undoubtably waiting below the third floor hatch.

"Sure thing, but I mean, isn't that Bellamy's full time gig?" Jasper responded, hesitant to argue with any activity involving Octavia. He was happy to takeover but he found the request odd.

"He'll be away, too. We're just going on a quick supply run. We'll be back before dark," she explained, cautious not to go into too much detail. With that, she made her way towards the door, hoping to avoid any questions, but of course, Jasper was already asking.

"Wait, Clarke." She turned around slowly, regretting that she mentioned the trip at all. She had hoped to just slip away from camp, just this once.

"When do you think I could, uh, you know, call the Ark again?" It hadn't been the question she expected, but she was glad to see him climbing out of his hole faster than anticipated.

"There's a hundred kids Jasper. Well, a little less now." They both tried not to think about the statement too much as she continued, "Look it might take a while, we still need that channel for information from the Ark." She was just being honest, yet she couldn't help but feel guilty as she watched his shoulders drop in disappointment.

"But not everyone wants to see their parents," she added, trying her best to hide the bite in the back of her tone, "So who knows, maybe a spot will open up sooner than expected. I'll see what I can do." Just as the brunette perked up, another one came barging through the door. And this one didn't looked pleased in the least.

"Are we going on this trip or what, Princess?" Bellamy demanded more than asked as he threw her an impatient look.

"I was just reminding Jasper he's on food duty. We're leaving now, okay?" she responded curtly, ignoring his exasperated sigh as she headed towards the door.

"Make sure you guys get those packs sealed. We need that stuff to last through the winter," Bellamy stated with an authoritative nod towards Jasper before following Clarke out the door. For some reason, he seemed anxious to leave, but Jasper didn't have time to contemplate why.

"Right, thanks. And be careful," he called after them, giving a short wave after their retreating forms. He hoped she was right. Just a quick supply run and then home for dinner.

After all, someone needed to assign him chores.

* * *

When the secrets finally came out, life on the Ark changed for everyone. Many turned to faith, others to anger, but most turned to work. With the knowledge of their dwindling oxygen supply and the heavy burden of others' sacrifice on their heads, it was double shifts for everyone. Everyone except the parents of the 100 that is.

No one really knew what to do with them. No one even knew what to call them. Some pitied them; others envied them. After all, their child had made it to the ground. There was an ironic certainty in the future of the guinea pigs while the scientists suffocated in their lab. No one could decide if the parents were blessed or cursed by the fate of their child.

Jaha had been more resolute in his response and granted them all an extra free hour in their day, a rare commodity that was not given lightly, especially in these times of crisis. Perhaps it was out of empathy, or perhaps it was because he could not fathom an apology complete enough to right the incredible wrong that had been done to them. To him. And so while other toiled away, the 200 were given time. They had lost their only child and now they had an hour to contemplate it. A blessing and a curse.

The Jordans knew exactly how they would spend their hour, and they had eagerly accepted the invitation to the broadcasting room. But their fifteen minutes had gone by too quickly, and the remaining forty-five seemed like an eternity.

When they returned to their living enclosure, a heavy silence fell upon them. There was an absence in this room, one that they had felt for the past year, and yet never so keenly as they did now. Cameron paused by the center kitchen chair, hovering above its untouched surface before quietly taking a seat in it, careful not to brush away the memories that clung to its surface. Charlie was surprised to see her sitting in their son's chair, but it was her next question which caught him off guard.

"Am I a terrible person?" She didn't meet his gaze as she spoke, addressing the room as much as her husband.

"Of course not, I have great taste in women," Charlie replied, and was rewarded with a small, fragile smile. He always loved to make her smile. But this one quickly shattered, and he could see she soon would, too. Her hands wrapped tightly around the metal edges of the chair as she gently rocked forward.

"Hey there, it's okay. We're okay," he soothed, taking her hand in his own as he pulled up a chair beside her. "How in the world could my beautiful wife think she was terrible, huh? What's wrong?"

"I want to live." The confession seemed so innocuous, and yet Cameron's eyes held a deep shame that Charlie had never seen before.

"I was thinking that would be fun, too," he joked, light-hearted as always. "It's been pretty good so far, you know, this living thing. I especially like the part where I get to live with you."

"Not everyone gets to live," she replied flatly, still looking down at his hand as it gently caressed her own. "These days I wonder if anyone is going to live," she added.

"Don't say that, you heard what Jaha said," he began, but he was quickly interrupted.

"There are people lining up to die, Charlie." She looked up at him with a desperate intensity, eyes rimmed red as she continued, "And they are going to have to keep lining up. People are dying for us. Laying down their lives because they think everyone else should have a chance. That's what they are thinking about: everyone else. And you know what I'm thinking about? I'm thinking about how to get on the next damn drop-ship." She paused, letting out a shaky breathe as she tried to compose herself.

"I want to live. And I am willing to let a hundred more people die so I can," she finished, leaving the statement to hang in the air the way three hundred and twenty souls hung upon all their heads. Charlie was silent, patiently rubbing circles into her palm as he waited to see if she was done. After a minute passed, he spoke.

"You know, I can't say for sure if I deserve to live. Last week, as I watched all those people line up, I thought maybe I should join them," he confessed.

"I know," Cameron responded, remembering the sinking feeling she had the night of the Culling.

"Of course you did," he said with a small, affectionate laugh as he shook his head. She always knew.

"I thought I was willing to die for you, but I didn't do it. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, but I couldn't bear the thought of you losing a son and a husband in one week. I've gotten the impression you're a bit fond of me," he continued, giving her a soft nudge.

"Oh just a little," she admitted, still unsure of how their collective selfishness brought any respite to her shame.

"And so maybe you don't think you deserve to live either, but I do. You see, I know this kid. He's a pretty decent kid, though he has has a real knack for getting himself in trouble. And that kid, that kid deserves a mother," he explained, resting his other hand beneath her chin as she ducked her head to hide the tears she could no longer contain.

"You, my darling, are a fantastic mother. And there is no shame in that." He pronounced each word with purpose, holding her gaze with such conviction that she found herself believing him just for this moment. She felt the guilt slide away behind a fond memory, a name that would break her.

"So you live. If not for me, for Jasper. He's going to need you down there."

"And you," she managed before words stopped forming in her closed up throat. His embrace held her together and her body anchored him to their sinking ship.

For once, they were glad for the extra time.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

I got really attached to Jasper's entirely fictional parents, so here's another installment. Thanks for the support, it gives me an excuse to write more of these two.

Apologies for the style change, I wanted a slower pace for this chapter. Feedback always welcome.


End file.
